


Sentinel

by 11_Gadget_27



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Non-Reaper AU, Original Character(s), POV shifts, Slice of Life, Turians, another au from me, guardian!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29763459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11_Gadget_27/pseuds/11_Gadget_27
Summary: With the passing of Primarch Terronos, Admiral Vesimir Fedorian is next in line for the position. The new Primarch and his three children have little choice but to leave their home planet of Parthia for the turian homeworld, and he has little choice but to rebuild the former Primarch's private guard, locally called Sentinels. With hundreds of names and well-deserving citizens to pick from, he only hopes he picked the correct ones. A former Blackwatch agent, a barefaced tactical genius from Invictus and one of the brightest engineering students to come out of Carthaan in decades.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back with a new AU. As of this moment, I only have the first chapter written and no concrete ideas going forward. Updates will be slow and sporadic but I always finish fics.

**Mavic: The Citadel**

Mavic was halfway into a bottle of horosk and a new bed partner when the news came in rapid fire chirps to both their omnitools. He sat against the headboard of his bed with a man he barely knew, the both of them drunk and disoriented, and listened to the reports coming out of Palaven. The Primarch had chosen to join the Spirits before the corpalis syndrome could destroy him. His successor had already been named and within the week the final ceremony for Primarch Terronos would take place at Temple Palaven and then Admiral Fedorian would take up the mantle. 

“Shit,” Mavic muttered as the news repeated, sharing what remained of the horosk with the man in his bed. He knew intimately what corpalis could do to a person. In the Primarch’s shoes, he’d have chosen the gentler way out too, but... “Shit.”

The man next to him trilled lowly and handed the bottle back. “It’s a shame,” He said. “I mean, there’s treatments for corpalis. He could have lived another several years.”

Mavic ached for a cigarette, pausing with the bottle to his mouth. “Those treatments just drag it out.” He rasped and cleared his throat of rising memories. 

“You don’t know that,” He got an affronted look. “Medical science is _always_ improving and there’s nothing the salarians can’t figure out.”

He was tempted to gnaw at a talon but he hadn’t given up one bad habit to start another. “Not sayin’ it’s not, just that corpalis will still kill you. Fast or slow is up to you.”

The man in his bed waited for him to drink and then took the bottle for himself. “It’s... just such an awful choice to have to make. In the end all you do is pass the pain on to someone else.”

Mavic took the bottle back and downed the rest in one swallow. He knew all about passing on the pain, too. But this man he barely knew didn’t get to hear that story, drunk or not. “So we gonna fuck still or do you wanna get another bottle?”

“Another bottle, Spirits.”

It had been insensitive to ask, not everyone coped the way he did, and fuck, a smoke would be nice. “Yeah, me too.”

A week passed and were it not for every turian on the Citadel wearing the colors of mourning, Mavic would have forgotten about the Primarch’s death. He didn’t make a habit of watching the news that came out of Palaven or any of the big colony worlds other than his own. It just wasn’t important to him anymore. At the end of his mandatory tour, Mavic had shifted to the reserves by choice and moved to the Citadel. The four years since then, he’d been in school to fine tune his engineering skills. In another few years, he planned to move back to Carthaan and work with dad as an equal. Of course, the next priority message that came through his omnitool completely derailed that plan.

**_Mavic Linnaeus Virim: Report to Hierarchy Command in Cipritine, Palaven for Reassignment. Effective Immediately._ **

**Crassus: Invictus**

Crassus had blood in his mouth and on his hands. Therian, with the Citadel silver tattooed across his face, fought dirty. He was a combative cheat that used every dirty trick to get the upper hand by any means. Sharp talons, thrown debris and nasty words... Crassus had _invited_ him into the ring to teach him some manners. Such as minding his own business. 

When all was said and done- he with various talon wounds and Therian with a broken nose- Crassus stepped from the ring and cleaned his hands without a word amidst congratulations from his unit-mates. The victory and praise meant nothing to him when he knew he’d likely fight the next transfer to Invictus and probably for the same reasons.

Spirits, why did anyone come to Invictus willingly? Either some massively over-sized carnivorous plant ate you. Or an insect carrying some hereto unknown disease killed you. Or, most commonly, the Hierarchy sent you here to rot when bad choices stagnated your career. Crassus had had the misfortune to be born on Invictus and had never made the effort to leave. He’d managed not to get himself eaten by the plants or outright killed by the bugs. His career though, that had stagnated. By the Spirits, it had putrefied. Fucking Invictus and its sweltering, swampy climate. A shithole of of a planet a step above Tuchanka. Crassus would rather try his luck against hordes of krogan than a single slimy tree on his homeworld. 

Crassus took a breath and pushed the indignation down deep where it belonged. He’d made the choice- the _right one_ \- and he’d live with it come hell or high water. One of which he was already in and the monsoons were only a season away. 

“Crassus.”

He turned away from the distasteful landscaped and quirked a questioning mandible at the base’s CO, another transfer he’d invited into the ring and defeated. The man held out a datapad. 

“It’s for you. From the Primarch.”

**Cato: Parthia**

“I just don’t...” Cato shifted and nuzzled his face into his shoulder to wipe the tears away. His sleeves were already useless on that front. “I don’t get why we have to go _now_. In two years we were gonna go anyway.”

“He’s the Primarch now.” Philia told him, her mandibles pulling in a little sharply and in her tones, he heard that he should be proud of his father.

Cato had to wipe his eyes again. When had he and Philia ever argued about _anything_? “I know,” He sighed and picked at his talons. “I know, I still don’t want to leave here.” He glanced over at her. “Or you.”

“You said it yourself. You were gonna leave in two years anyway.”

His mandibles fluttered and he dunked his head. “Yeah but... but I thought, in two years, we’d be enlisting together.” 

Philia fluttered her mandibles back at him. “Cato...”

“We’d enlist on Palaven,” He continued. “And go through basic together and then when that was done, we’d transfer to one of the bureaus. Maybe the information or education branches, I hadn’t decided. Anyway we’d serve our fifteen and then go into the reserves, right? Then we’d buy a ship and just go explore the galaxy together until we found somewhere to settle down and then we’d raise a-”

“Cato.” 

He met her eyes at the firm tone, his plans for their future dying on his tongue. “W-what?” And suddenly his throat was unbearably tight.

“None of that’s gonna happen.” Philia said softly. “You’re gonna go to Palaven with your dad and the twins and I’m probably never gonna see you again.”

“Don’t say that, Philia.” Cato whined, staring at her with his mandibles hanging loose. “Spirits, I’m gonna call you _every day_ and I’ll visit as much as I can and you’ll visit too and we... we...”

She looked at him all sadly and he could see the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes that matched the color of their colony paint. Purple; bright, bright purple. In their whole lives, Cato had never seen her cry. Spirits, he realized this was goodbye. Cato turned his head sharply and faced Parthia’s planet-wide ocean. So blue that he couldn’t tell where sea ended and sky began. He was saying goodbye to this too, it could be years before he came back.

“Just don’t forget about me,” He said tightly, not daring to reach for her hand like he’d wanted to. It was pointless now and he was done crying. “I’ll be in Cipritine if you ever need me. For anything, okay?”

Philia hugged him. Like she wasn’t a crier, she wasn’t a hugger either. Cato squeezed her tightly, head down on her shoulder as the change of tides at their feet caught his attention. He didn’t know what he’d miss more. The ocean that stretched for miles and miles and miles more, that sang to him, that was in his blood, or his best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Cato: Cipritine, Palaven**

Another shuttle was landing on the docking pad behind the estate. There had been a lot of them the last few days carrying supplies or people. Cato felt his mandibles shift. An estate and staff rubbed him the wrong way when he was used to just dad and his brothers. It rubbed dad the wrong way too, they didn’t need all this stuff and they certainly didn’t need the specialized Sentinels. Only two of them had arrived so far, both giants of turians but one of them made Cato’s plating crawl more than the other. The way his voice didn’t have a reverb and he spoke without tones... Cato shivered and hoped the last Sentinel wasn’t worse than that. He tried to get a closer look at that shuttle with his omnitool. 

One of his brothers picked that moment to just _appear_ at his side and tug insistently at his shirt-tail. They always did that when they wanted attention, always came to _him_ before dad and Cato wasn’t in the mood for it. He batted blindly at the five-year-old and earned a high pitched whine that he wasn’t sure who it belonged to. Spirits he wasn’t sure Cicero even knew how to talk yet or that he could because he’d always just used subtones to get his wants across. Marcian wasn’t all that different but Cato had heard him use full sentences before. His brothers were weird and more clingy than ever and tugging at his shirt again.

“Go away.” He hissed to another needy whine.

A single person had stepped off the shuttle and Cato knew it had to be the last of the Sentinels. He pulled up the interface of his omnitool for a better look, ignoring the tugging down at his side. His brother, whichever one it was, would get bored and leave soon anyway. He hadn’t even seen the other guards before dad had sworn them in and he didn’t want to be surprised this time.

An adjustment to the omnitool’s viewer and he could almost- Wow, the last Sentinel was way small when the other two had been huge. Cato fluttered his mandibles, thinking he must be some kind of former special ops. Maybe an infiltrator or something equally dangerous... And he’d spotted Cato across the distance, vibrant orange eyes meeting his dull brown ones through the viewer. Cato almost dropped his omnitool when the Sentinel lifted a hand and waved at him.

“Spirits!” He exclaimed and jumped away from the window.

Marcian blinked up at him, blocky little mandibles spreading in a hopeful smile. “We go outside now?”

“No!” Cato snapped. “By the Spirits Marcian, I told you to _go away_.”

Those little mandibles shook. “But... but play outside?”

The pitch of that whiny little trill made his ears hurt. “I’m not going outside and I’m not gonna play with you. Go away, Marcian, leave me alone.”

Those little mandibles outright wobbled before the little boy ran away crying. Cato rubbed at his temples. That was just great.

**Mavic:**

Mavic whistled as the Estate of the Primarch came into full view out the window of his shuttle. Damn place was huge with gardens on all sides and a private landing dock. Several buildings littered the grounds, a barracks if he had to guess, some kind of staff housing, an obvious armory, a massive garage and what looked like a solarium connected to the main house. Shit, it was almost about the size of his hometown... Mavic’s stomach tightened with nerves again. The shuttle was just touching down and already he felt wildly out of place. 

“You’re good to disembark, Sentinel Virim. Spirits be with you.”

“And you, thanks.” He told the pilot as he slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped clear.

All he could smell at first was shuttle exhaust and then the other scents filtered in. Flowers, Palavenian pine and hot summer on the tails of fresh air. Spirits, _fresh air_. Nothing like the Citadel at all and not much like home either. 

“What am I doin’ here?” Mavic muttered and shifted his bag a little higher, looking around.

The Estate of the Primarch and him a Sentinel... Dad had been ecstatic at the news while Mavic himself was still confused. He was an engineering student that had served his first tour as a simple base mechanic for Spirit’s sake. This, all this, felt unearned. He hadn’t the slightest clue what the new Primarch possibly saw in him. There had to be better people for the job. Fuck, he’d probably be sent back to the Citadel in a matter of days.

Mavic stared up at the side of the main house, hands in his pockets and his head tilted. There was a dark-plated boy watching him from one of the windows, the Primarch’s oldest kid, he guessed. He couldn’t be far into his teenage years but damn, he was the spitting image of the Primarch. Mavic waved hello and the kid darted away. It figured, he wasn’t great with kids. Spirits he was likely going to spend a lot of time with the Primarch’s kids. 

He rubbed a hand over his fringe and down to massage his neck. Fuck, what did the Primarch want _him_ for? And -Mavic looked up at the main house again- where was he supposed to go now that he was here? Another, nervous rub over his fringe and Mavic started toward the only door he saw on this side of the house. And jumped back when it swung open. The turian in the doorway was easily seven feet tall and half as broad through the shoulders, his face tattooed with the bold cobalt of the homeworld. The matching blue of his eyes lit up as he smiled and Mavic found himself smiling back.

“Welcome to Palaven, Sentinel Virim.” He held out a hand. “I’m Ignatius Voynik, your superior other than the Primarch, of course.”

“Nice to meet you.” Mavic said automatically and shook the hand that completely enveloped his. It brought back that feeling of inadequacy and his mandibles flickered. “Er, Sir? Permission to speak freely?”

The giant Palavenian inclined his head. “Go for it.”

“I dunno what the fuck I’m doin’ here, Sir.”

Ignatius barked a good-natured laugh and shifted to gesture him into the house. “You are candid. The Primarch will appreciate that. Come inside, Sentinel Virim, he’s been waiting to meet you.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Crassus:**

It felt _good_ to be in uniform again. The fabric tight in all the right places and the high collar pleasantly stiff with the emblem of the Sentinel pinned near his pulse. It was comfortable and Crassus finally felt like more than a barefaced bastard from Invictus. The Primarch had uplifted him and given him purpose. Crassus, in return, had promised his loyalty and meant it.

He stood at ease to one side of the Primarch’s desk and observed the man with one of his younger children. Crassus hadn’t yet learned how to tell the twins apart when they weren’t together. They were both tiny dark-plated boys with too big eyes and mandibles, pointed little noses and too shy to do more than stare at him. Crassus had so far only interacted with them via small smiles from across the room. Sometimes one of the twins would smile back.

The one, he was reasonably sure, was curled up in the Primarch’s lap, sniffing pitifully as he was soothed with soft words and gentle pets over his fringe. Vesimir let out a long sigh. “I should make time to speak with Cato again today.”

Crassus flicked his mandibles in a noncommittal reply, unsure what he was expected to say if anything. Cato, the oldest boy, had been the reason for the little boy to run into the office crying.

“I know you’ve no children of your own,” The Primarch hummed quietly. “What of siblings?”

He shifted his stance somewhat stiffly, uncomfortable. “I’m... I’m disowned, Sir. As you know.”

“I do.” Vesimir gave him a somewhat wan smile and kept up the pets to his son’s fringe. The boy had dozed off. “Pretend for a moment that you aren’t.”

Crassus shifted again and lowered his eyes. “I mean no disrespect Sir, but I can’t do that, nor will I. Should you want bare facts, my dossier can provide them.”

The Primarch took his measure and then slowly inclined his head. “I understand, Crassus, and offer my apology for asking on too sensitive a subject.”

“I forgive you.” He said immediately and did. The question wasn’t the first of that nature and he was adept at brushing it off. 

“In time, when I’ve earned your trust, we can talk about it should you want to.”

Crassus had the sense of his heart spasming in his chest but felt no accompanying pain. He knew he’d never want to talk about it whether he trusted the Primarch or not. “Thank you, Sir.”

Vesimir smiled at him and eased the sleeping boy in his lap to a more comfortable position. “I was leading to a discussion on siblings in any case. They all fight and argue. Since this change-” he gestured to the room “-my children have all seemed extra moody. Marcian and Cicero are usually glued at the hip but it seems lately that Cicero would rather be alone. Cato’s turned all snappy and withdrawn but then I remind myself that he wanted to come to Palaven least of all and teenage hormones have him in a twist regardless of what I do. Marcian only wants someone to play with.”

He scratched at a mandibles idly. “There’s space enough in the staff housing that they could bring their own children. Marcian and Cicero would have plenty of playmates then and I’m sure there are bound to be other children near Cato’s age as well.”

The Primarch considered that. “The boys need more socialization. I’ll see if it’s not something I can make happen.” He said, leaning back in the chair. “Sit, Crassus, please. It strains my neck to look so far up.”

Crassus chuckled lightly and folded himself into one of the nearby chairs. “Forgive me, Sir. I forget how tall I am.”

Vesimir gave a warm chuckle of his own. “When Ignatius arrived, I thought he was the tallest man I had ever met.”

He flicked his mandibles. “He’s very close. I think he’s wider through the shoulders.”

“Possibly.” He hummed in agreement. “Of course, I would assume the Blackwatch demands more in the way of physical fitness than Invictus does.”

“On Invictus, one only needs to be able to outrun the plants.” Crassus drawled.

Vesimir let out a rolling laugh. “In all my postings, I’ve never been.”

“It’s not worth going.”

There was a knock at the door before the Primarch could reply and he shifted Marcian again. “Come in,” He called.

Crassus turned in his seat and came face to face with the most striking eyes he’d ever seen. Orange and fiery like Palaven’s sun, bright and full of Spirit, staring back at him with revulsion. His mandibles flicked along his jaw and he glanced sideways at the Primarch like he was unbothered by the usual reaction to his lack of markings. 

“Sentinel Virim,” The Primarch greeted. “Welcome to Cipritine.”

**Mavic:**

Along the way to the Primarch’s office they ran into one of the twins. A tiny and shy little thing that spoke only with his secondary vocals and clung to Ignatius like a pyjack to a tree branch. Mavic found him to be painfully adorable.

“Since you’re the first of the litter I’ve met, I’m gonna call you lil’ prince, yeah?” He told the little boy, his mandibles flared to the smile and chirp he got in return. “Shit, they all look just like him, don’t they?”

Ignatius laughed and perched Cicero on his shoulders. “Yes, they do.” He agreed. “Three little carbon copies.”

Mavic blinked up at him. “Wait, really?”

“No, not like that.” The giant Sentinel said. “Vesimir’s mate joined the Spirits shortly after the twins were born.”

He let out a soft hiss, looking up at the boy on Ignatius’ shoulders. Their eyes held and he could see all the way to that Spirit. He swallowed hard. “My mom’s with the Spirits too, lil’ prince.”

Cicero trilled quietly. _Can’t remember her._

Yeah, that hurt and Mavic felt his mandibles shift just so before he could stop them. “She remembers you. Spirits don’t forget.”

“Spirits don’t forget.” Ignatius repeated with a quiet hum and patted at the boy’s leg. “Cicero, I have to drop Mavic off to speak with your father, then what do you say you and I go look for your brother?”

_Then go outside?_

“Yes, tidbit, then we can go outside.”

The responding chirp was loud and full of joy.

“Y’know?” Mavic drawled with a grin. “I reckon I could get used to that sound.”

Ignatius chuckled. “I’m sure that you’ll have time to.” He said, stopping them outside an ornate door. “Go on and knock. My hands are full.”

Cicero gave another of those joyous chirps and a giggle. Mavic knocked on the door and received an immediate call to enter. He took a deep breath before he did. Another damned giant sat in a chair in front of the desk. The man was barefaced but Mavic could see the pattern of the markings, the scars left behind in the plating. It was supposed to be an extreme punishment and a painful process, having your color stripped away... Mavic felt a shiver climb up his spine at just the thought of it and he couldn’t hold those dark green eyes. The man looked away as he did. 

“Sentinel Virim,” The Primarch cleared his throat. “Welcome to Cipritine.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Mavic blinked at him and his mandibles flared into a surprised grin at the sight of the other twin in his arms. “Hey lil’ prince, looks like we found your brother.”

Cicero trilled and squirmed and that woke up Marcian. “Igni! ‘Ro!”

“Sir,” Ignatius said. “I’ll take the boys outside at your leave.”

“Yes, please.” The Primarch came around the desk to hug both of his children and then sent them on their way with Ignatius.

Mavic eyed the other man as big as him even sitting. His shoulders were stiff and straight. Yeah, he’d probably given the wrong first impression... “I’m Mavic Virim.” He offered his hand with a careful smile.

“I’m Crassus.” The man’s grip was careful too but it was his voice that had Mavic flinching. You had to work at it to make it sound that flat, hide every feeling and bury every intention. Spirits, forget why _he_ was here, what was the Primarch doing with a man like that?

“Crassus,” The Primarch cleared his throat again. “Would you leave us to talk?”

“Yes, Sir.” The giant inclined his head and rose easily to his feet.

Mavic took an involuntary step back. Standing, the barefaced Sentinel _towered_ over him. His mandible fluttered. “N-nice to meet you.”

“You as well.”

That flat, empty voice... Mavic couldn’t help the shiver.

“Please have a seat, Mavic.” The Primarch said as the door closed again. 


End file.
